


Dear Miss Adler

by SarahCat1717



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Masturbation, Molrene but not really, Other, Sherlolly but not really, sexually empowered molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:31:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahCat1717/pseuds/SarahCat1717
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper has a problem. She is in love with a man who barely acknowledges her. She decides to seek advice from an expert. But when said man is no ordinary man, you don't seek ordinary advice. "Dear Miss Adler..."</p><p>Set prior to the events of the Great Game, especially before “Jim from IT” ever met Molly at Bart’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bored

Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes had more than a few things in common. They were both geniuses, in their own way. And being geniuses, they both loved an audience. Also, they both, on occasion, got painfully bored. 

When Sherlock Holmes got bored he shot up walls, sought out cigarettes, and bugged his blogger/flatmate/friend to find him new cases to solve. He even took to reading every single email in his inbox, sifting through the loads of fan mail, sexual offers, and other rubbish, trying to find any little ember that his mind could cling to so that it didn’t burn itself up instead. 

When Irene Adler got bored she leaked little bits of information to the press, went shopping for things she did certainly not need more of, and bugged her personal assistant/lover/slave to find her new and more interesting clients to whip into submission. She even took to reading every single email in her inbox, sifting through the loads of fan mail, sexual offers, and other rubbish, trying to find any little ember that her mind and labido could cling to so they they didn’t burn themselves up instead. 

It was on one such day that Miss Adler came across an email that caught her eye. It wasn’t from someone who wanted to offer themselves to her to use, or some poor misguided fool who wanted to “rescue” her from her life of sin. This was from someone asking her advice. It was brief and shy and rather innocent. Miss Adler loved a touch of innocence every once and a while. It was like a perfectly chilled cocktail on a hot day. You know, not enough to plan your whole day around, but refreshing none the less. 

Dear Miss Adler,  
My name is Molly Hooper. I read about you in the papers. I know what kind of work you do. I know that you are kind of an expert in certain areas, a genius even. I thought about writing to the relationship experts on the telly or in the women’s magazines, but I don’t think they will quite do. You see, I am in love with a man who doesn’t know I am alive. I see him frequently and he treats me like a piece of furniture. I fetch him coffee and other things that he needs. When he wants me to bend the rules for him, he smiles and compliments me and turns on this fake charm act. I’m not that daft. I know it’s just a trick, but I give in anyway. I do it because it’s nice to pretend, just for a moment, that he isn’t just acting.   
I should probably mention that he is not a normal man. He is a fascinating and beautiful genius. I know a lot of women probably say that about the men that they fancy, but I mean it. He is a certifiable, mad genius. I honestly doubt I can make him love me, but I would just really like for him to see me. I want him to see me, just once, as a real woman. I was wondering if you could possibly help me.   
Thank you in advance for your time and consideration,  
Molly Hooper

Irene Adler lay back on her silk sheets and twirled her phone. Her manicured fingernails clicked against the screen, the only sound in the room. There was something about this Molly Hooper’s email that amused her. She wasn’t sold on it being worth her time, but she kept coming back to it. Irene sent her a quick reply.

Dear Miss Hooper,  
Send me your contact information and a picture of yourself.   
Miss Adler

Irene lulled in her bed a bit more, not expecting a return email very soon. None of the other emails showed any promise at all. She was starting to think that going on a shopping spree may be in order. Even shopping sounded boring but at least she would end up with some pretty things. 

The phone buzzed once. It was her email notification. There was already a reply from Miss Hooper. Miss Adler read the brief message before hitting the “open attachment” option to see the picture that was sent. 

Sorry, I am at work so I ducked in my office to take this picture on my phone. It’s not very good, I know. Sorry. 

“Oh good god” thought Miss Adler with an eye roll. “The girl just apologized to me twice in two sentences. that can’t be good.” Irene downloaded the picture with trepidation, bracing herself for disappointment. “If she is wearing a sweater with cats on it then the girl deserves to be ignored.”

The picture suddenly sprang to the screen. Irene’s surprise came in two distinct waves. 

The first was that this woman was quite pretty. Granted this was a picture taken hastily in a mirror, but Irene was still able to see that her features were lithe and supple. Her hair was worn swept up, not all the wispy pieces captured perfectly. Her blouse was boring and wrinkled, worn under what appeared to be a lab coat. So Miss Hooper was likely an intelligent woman as well as attractive. The hand that held the camera phone, just visible on the one side of the picture, had a beautiful wrist. Irene had a thing for wrists. Lovely, thin wrists that would look simply fantastic tied up in silk rope. 

The second bit of information, the one that made Irene Adler’s breath catch in her throat and had her suddenly sitting up straight on her bed, was that she recognized this young woman. The lab coat is what did it actually. That was what perked her memory. Irene closed that picture and brought up her archive of picture files. She selected the one she had dubbed “detective stories.” These pictures were all gifts from a business associate that knew that she had a thing for a certain semi-famous, London-based consulting detective. After just a few flicks Irene found it. It was a CCTV still from a hallway of a hospital. There was a tall man in a long dark coat. Matching his stride was a shorter blonde man with square shoulders and a black jacket. And just behind them, her face just visible above a stack of binders gripped to her chest, was Molly Hooper. Miss Molly Hooper was beaming, unseen, at one Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Belgravia

“Kate!” called out Miss Adler. The Kate in question was dutifully never too far from Irene, should she be needed. She lived to serve really. The redhead strode in after a moment and sat expectantly at the edge of Irene’s bed. 

“Be a dear and get in touch with Miss Molly Hooper. I am forwarding you her email address now. Set up an appointment with her as soon as possible. I am officially intrigued.”

“Oh?” replied Kate as both women were now looking down at their mobile phones. She raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow at her employer/lover/mistress and ventured the question “Should I be jealous?”

Irene glanced up at Kate through long dark eyelashes and smiled seductively slowly. She wrapped her fingers around the loose silk tie that Kate wears as part of her “business casual” look and drew the woman closer across the bed. With crimson lips just brushing, Irene sighed with a bit of a pout in her voice “I don’t know yet, but let’s go ahead and say yes, just because ‘jealous’ is a very good look on you.” 

____________________________________________________________________

 

Molly Hooper stood in front of her closet, at a total and complete loss. It’s not everyday that one goes to meet with a professional dominatrix. Molly giggled to herself at the very thought of it. She caught sight of her cat Mittens in the reflection of her mirror. Mittens seemed to be placidly judging her. 

“Don’t look at me like that. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Molly dove back into her closet with grim determination. She finally settled on a knee-length black skirt and a green silk blouse that she usually saved for the holidays and other special occasions. Her mother always said green brought out her eyes. She pulled a black cardigan with a ruffled collar on over it all. When it came to black shoes, Molly only owned sensible low heels and flats and one lonely pair of shiny open-toed 3-inch heels. She put on the heels but remembered that she walked kind of wobbly in them. She decided against them, instead slipping into some basic low pumps. She transferred a few necessary items from her everyday bag to a vintage beaded clutch she got from her dead aunt’s collection. She was just about to close the clasp when her eyes fell on her bedside table drawer. She thought on it for a moment. Molly Hooper then retrieved one item from her drawer, the only item kept in that drawer, and placed it carefully in her purse. 

She splurged on a taxi today, a bit too nervous to deal with the crowds on the tube. The fare from her little flat to the impressive rows of houses in Belgravia was nothing to scoff at, but the private ride gave Molly some time to think. She smiled at her reflection in the window of the taxi. She was a ball of nerves and excitement. 

Molly also allowed herself to feel a little bit of pride as well. Just writing the email to Miss Adler took a lot of courage. She cried as she wrote it. Molly Hooper was very aware that her admiration for Sherlock Holmes was rather transparent to anyone who saw her interact with him. Some of the lab assistants teased her. Dear Dr. Stamford always was kind enough to casually let her know when Sherlock was in the lab. And John Watson would give her kind, pained, apologetic looks when Sherlock said something especially insensitive in that oblivious way of his. But seeing her confession of unrequited love in black in white on her computer screen made it all so very real. It took several deep breaths and finally an urgent meow from Mittens that seemed to just scream “oh get on with it!” that finally got her to hit “send.”

When she received the return email a few days later she was actually in the morgue with Sherlock. Molly knew she turned about as red as can be when she read it. Luckily Sherlock was so engrossed in picking sediment from under the toenails of a corpse that he didn’t notice when she quickly turned tails and practically ran from the room. 

The taxi pulled up in front of a three-story white brick building. Molly paid the driver the small fortune and launched herself up the stairs, finding she needed to consciously will every step forward. She rang the fancy bell with the camera. 

“Yes?” came the cool female voice over the speaker. 

Molly smiled into the camera and stammered a bit too loudly, as if the speaker were an elderly relative that one assumed was loosing their hearing.

“Hi! Umm, I am, umm, Molly Hooper? I have an appointment to meet Miss Adler. I mean, not that kind of an appointment. Not that there is anything wrong with that! I’m just here to talk to Miss Adler, umm, is she in?” Molly cringed. Then she remembered that there was a camera, and she cringed some more. 

There was a click or two from inside the door and it was swung open by a tall and striking redhead. 

“Miss Hooper, Miss Adler is expecting you. Follow me please?”

The elegant woman lead Molly down through a central hall. Her high black heels with the red soles clicked with every step on the tile floors. Molly self-consciously flexed her toes in her modest and slightly scuffed shoes as she followed. 

She was finally lead into an impeccable black and white parlor and the other woman departed the room. Molly sat. Then she stood. Then she sat again. Does one rise when a dominatrix enters the room? Is that customary? Will she be expected to kiss her hand or something, like meeting the pope? Or should she make it a point to not touch her, like the Queen? Was this the time to try to remember how to properly curtsey, like a the end of the nativity play in primary school? 

The door was opened by the redhead. She didn’t look at Molly though, but rather at somewhere down the hall. Molly heard approaching feminine footsteps and then there she was: The Woman. She looked just like the pictures on her website. Most people don’t look like their fancy professional portraits, but Irene Adler looked like she just stepped right out of one. Molly realized only then that she had been harboring the fear that Miss Adler would receive her in her, umm, professional uniform. Molly had a vague image of leather and very high boots. Miss Adler appeared in a long, royal blue, elegant silk kimono wrapped around her and cinched tightly at the waist. A hint of something lacy peeked from the V of the neckline. 

Miss Adler walked right up to Molly Hooper and stepped a little bit closer than the average greeting into Molly’s personal space. Her sparkling eyes danced over every inch of Molly. Molly’s thoughts flashed to Sherlock’s similar calculating assessment, although it was so rarely ever gifted to her. 

After a few long moments of this silent scrutiny, Miss Adler flashed a vibrant smile at Molly.

“Welcome Miss Hooper. Tea?”

“Umm, yes. Thank you. And thanks so much for agreeing to meet with me.”

Another smile, then a quick nod to the redhead. The other woman left, presumedly to fetch the tea service, and left Molly Hooper and Irene Adler alone. 

Molly sat at one end of the sofa. Miss Adler did not sit at the other end but rather closer to the middle. 

“So Miss Hooper, tell me about this man that you desire.”

Molly started slowly and tried to avoid saying his name at first, but Miss Adler was a good listener and it felt good to talk so freely about all the things she liked about Sherlock to someone other than her cat. Tea arrived and Molly barely took a sip in between little anecdotes about Sherlock’s genius and complexity and occasional cruelty. Miss Adler had a few questions for her as well, some about Molly and some about Sherlock. Quite a few about Sherlock actually. Sometime after Molly’s tea had long since gone cold, the redhead reappeared and gently cleared her throat. Miss Adler turned to her, the other woman responding by simply tapping one manicured nail on her gold wristwatch. 

“I’m afraid I need to receive another appointment momentarily, Miss Hooper. But Kate will be in touch with you to set up our next meeting, won’t you Kate?”

“Yes Miss Adler.”

“But let me say this first, before you decide whether or not to meet with me again. Even I can’t make this genius boy fall in love with you Molly. Drawing that kind of a response out of a man like that would be quite the feat, even for me. However, I am quite confident I can help you accomplish what you had asked about in your email.”

With this Miss Adler leaned closer to Molly and ran the backs of her fingers up Molly’s arm slowly. Molly wasn’t quite sure at what point during their conversation Miss Adler had managed to move so close to Molly that their knees were touching.

“You said you wanted him to see you. You wanted him to see you as a woman. That my dear we can definitely do. It will mean stepping a bit out of your usual comfort zone but I promise you it will be worth it.”

Miss Adler’s hand strayed from where she had been casually running Molly’s collar between her fingertips (Molly also did not remember that second button being undone before) and came up to tuck a few stray hairs behind Molly’s ear. The dominatrix’s cool nails ran over the shell of Molly’s ear before drawing back. Was that a quick pinch just then?

“Just one last question, Miss Hooper.” said The Woman as she rose to take her leave.

“Yes, Miss Adler?”

The brunette turned and with suddenly very sharp eyes asked.

“What is in your purse, Molly?”

Molly felt herself flush instantly. 

“Umm, what do you mean exactly?”

Molly took her clutch purse from the table in front of her just a bit to quickly and held it a bit too tightly to her chest. Miss Adler straightened her spine from a relaxed posture to rail-straight in an instant. She strode purposefully over to Molly and loomed over the seated, shy pathologist. 

“Whenever you spoke of this Sherlock your eyes flitted tellingly to your purse. You have something in there. Something of his. Something personal. Something he doesn’t even know that you have. What are you hiding Molly Hooper?”

“I, umm...”

Molly fumbled with her purse but did not open it. She was searching for an excuse but nothing was firing properly within the close proximity of Miss Adler. The embroidered edge of her kimono ghosted over Molly’s ankles. 

“Give it to me.”

This was not a request. Miss Adler extended her hand in front of her and Molly felt the weight of the commanding presence of The Woman. She reached into her purse. Not doing so wasn’t remotely an option.

Molly pulled out one black leather glove. It was a man’s glove. It was made of fine leather and it was not brand new. She placed it in the awaiting hand of Miss Adler. Molly inwardly cringed and felt a wee bit sick when Miss Adler's fingers closed around Sherlock’s glove. She gripped it so tightly her knuckles turned white for a moment. Molly saw something wild and hungry flash in the eyes of Miss Adler that made her feel less settled still. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared when Kate interrupted. 

“Miss Adler, we really should prepare for your next client.”

“Yes, of course Kate, thank you.”

Irene gestured for Molly’s hand. She took it in hers and turned Molly’s palm up, placing the glove reverently in it, covering the top with her own. Irene’s eyes were soft and inviting again. Her thumb circled on the inside of Molly’s wrist with just enough gentle pressure to send the sensation up the nerves of her arm in a lovely manner. 

“You have lovely wrists Miss Hooper.” Irene purred.

“Thank you Miss Adler.” Molly replied breathlessly. But she dared to keep eye contact with The Woman. 

“This is going to be fun, Molly. I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

Miss Adler slid her hands from Molly’s and swept from the room, her robe swaying perfectly behind her. 

Molly Hooper soon found herself standing on the front stoop, not really aware of the details of how she got there. But then she let herself smile wide and relished the gleeful anticipation welling in her. Molly had successfully acquired the coaching of the most infamous dominatrix in the kingdom. This actually might work. Sherlock will see her. 

___________________________________________________________________

Irene entered her bedroom, allowing her kimono to slide from her shoulders as she walked. She entered her dressing room and ran her fingers along the rows of lingerie, deciding what to where for her highness this afternoon. 

After retrieving the robe from the floor, Kate stood in the doorway of the closet, leaning against the doorframe. 

“So, shall I be jealous?” she asked.

Miss Adler smiled wickedly. “Maybe.”


	3. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson

Over the last week, Molly Hooper was on edge every waking moment with the anticipation of what the next meeting with Miss Adler might bring. And whenever business brought Sherlock to the morgue, it was ten times worse. She was so lost in embarrassed revelry at one point while she was supposed to be dissecting a spleen, a consulting detective perched ominously and impatiently over her shoulder, that it earned her a rather loud “Dear god, woman! Focus! I’ve seen better cutting at the meat market!” 

Molly sputtered her apologies and did, indeed, get focused. For as much as Sherlock was prone to saying those things, she also knew that he chased away the person who was supposed to be relieving her an hour ago so that Molly had to stay over the end of her shift. In Sherlock-speak, this meant he only trusted her with the delicate task. 

“Give her some room to work, Sherlock.” came the calm but firm voice of the only other person in the room, the ever-present Dr. Watson. Sherlock flounced dramatically in front of his favorite microscope in the lab and John came to nonchalantly stand beside him. Molly wondered to herself if there was even a slide in the scope or if Sherlock just used it as something to look busy with while he was sulking impatiently. Molly overheard John’s reprimands of Sherlock in hushed snippets.

“You shouldn’t speak to her like that...” and “There is only so much people will put up with from you, Sherlock. Even Molly has her limits.” But this was then quickly followed by the playful jab “And since when do you ever step foot in a market to reference the skill level of a butcher?”

Sherlock’s response, hissed through his teeth, went something like “Clearly distracted...probably by some adolescent fantasy judging by the blush creeping over her...”

Molly coughed purposefully to block her own ability to hear just where Sherlock had seen the blush forming on her skin. She was reaching the portion of the specimen that Sherlock had been interested in seeing and had found the abnormality he had predicted. She smiled proudly at playing at least a small part in the conclusion of this particular case. 

“Sherlock! I found it! Just like you said.”

Sherlock’s whole demeanor changed, lit up from the inside like a kid on Christmas morning. He practically skipped across the room then leaned over her again, but this time there was no intimidation. Sherlock’s long-fingered hands rested on her shoulders and his dark curls brushed her cheek as he crowded into her work space. She held her breath and glanced sideways at his profile, those perfect lips tipped in a lop-sided, pleased and slightly smug grin. 

“Excellent.” He breathed, giving her shoulders a little squeeze as he rose again. He was a flurry of long coat and blue scarf while simultaneously typing at his iPhone. 

“Forward the report to Lestrade as soon as possible. I alerted him to the results but he’ll need the official report as well to issue the warrant.”

“Ok!” She replied cheerfully.

Sherlock was at the door, holding it open impatiently for John, eyes still glued to his iPhone screen. He only looked up when he realized the doctor had stopped a few feet before the doorway. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the pointed glare he was receiving. John tipped his head in the direction of Molly. There was an exasperated sigh. However, Sherlock’s response, though short, had a surprising air of genuineness to it.

“Molly, thank you for assistance today. It is much appreciated.”

She beamed at him. “Your welcome. My pleasure.”

He nodded in return, then shot eyes back to John. And silent eyebrow raise clearly asked “Good? Satisfied?”

John smiled, there was a quick nod, and he walked through the door that was still held open for him. Before the door closed completely Molly heard Sherlock grousing “I certainly know about the workings of the market, John.”

“No, you don’t” flatly echoed down the hallway. 

Molly removed her latex gloves and waited as the required program opened up on her computer. It was taking forever. One of these days she’ll have to contact the IT department to take a look at it. 

She fell into thinking about how she envied John Watson. It wasn’t like that. Some people, well a lot of people actually, thought that Sherlock’s blogger was more than just a flat-mate. Somedays Molly thought she could see it that way and then other days it seemed just silly. But that wasn’t why she was jealous. It was that Sherlock didn’t ignore John like he did others. John clearly mattered to Sherlock. It was like he showed up one day, they started adventuring together, and they had both slipped into mutual orbit around one another. They could have whole conversations with their eyes and a smattering of micro-expressions. 

And John was making Sherlock better. Maybe Sherlock was doing the same for John. Molly didn’t know John before his time living at Baker Street so it was hard to tell. But the point was that Molly would to have loved to have been the person that made Sherlock Holmes a better version of himself. 

She glanced at her watch and smiled. This time tomorrow she would just about be walking up the steps to a certain posh house in Belgravia. Soon things would be different.


	4. Honey

Warning: Miss Adler doing things with a client that one would imagine a dominatrix does. Nothing too graphic though. 

“Hello! It was Kate, right?” Molly brightly offered when the redhead opened the door. The woman standing in the doorway looked utterly unamused. Molly fleetingly worried that maybe that actually wasn’t her name, or that even perhaps she had the wrong house and the wrong redhead. “I’m, umm, Molly Hooper? I was here last week? Here to see Miss Adler...”

“Right this way Miss Hooper. Miss Adler is expecting you.”

Molly was just gaining her composure and shred of confidence back when Kate veered away from the parlor Molly and Irene had tea in last week and instead led her upstairs. Molly darn near wobbled right out of her (new and decidedly not-to-be-worn-in-the-morgue) heels when the source of that distant sound she had been hearing since entering the home clicked in her recognition. 

*Crack*

Molly whole-body flinched at the sound, just outside the room of its origin. Without the slightest hesitation, Kate opened the door and lead Molly in. Molly tried her very best to not break stride and to not look as completely out of her element as she was. 

Miss Adler was prowling around the our poster bed. She wore a black brocade corset over a white lace blouse with pearl buttons and smartly tailored black satin shorts. A black bolero jacket with red lining gave her the look of a cross between a businesswoman and a matador...in heels and back-seem stockings. The woman spread on the bed wore nothing but a silk blindfold, thick soft ropes on her ankles and wrists, and glaring red stripes on the flesh of her inner thighs. 

Miss Adler never even looked over her shoulder as Molly entered the room, but did greet her “Molly, how lovely to see you again, dear. Have a seat and help yourself to some tea.”

The woman on the bed turned her blinded visage in the direction of the door Molly had entered. Her red lips parted in an excited gasp at the news of a guest being present for her scolding. 

*Crack*

“I don’t recall giving you permission to move, did I?” asked Miss Adler cooly, paying no mind to the lash mark left across the left breast of the nameless, naked woman. 

“No, Miss Adler”

“Good girl. You may show me you are sorry for your indiscretion.” Irene lifted one foot gracefully onto the bed, pressing the heel into the mattress just next to the woman’s face. Wordlessly, with a crane of the neck, red lips parted and the bound woman proceeded to lavish the patent leather with long, slow licks from toe to heel. 

Molly was perched very upright on her chair next to the small table set with tea service, trying to find something in the room to look at besides the happenings on the bed. She was pretty sure she would be able to draw the pattern on the Tiffany lampshade from memory when this day was through. 

Miss Adler addressed her casually. “I remembered you took honey with your tea. You must try some from the little jar there. You have to give it a good stir first. It’s Ling Heather honey. It’s what the broadsword warriors of Scotland and Scandinavia consumed before going into battle. It’s a bit of an acquired taste but I thought you could handle it Miss Hooper.”

Molly may have said something along the lines of “thank you” or at least uttered some semblance of agreement. With quaking hands she retrieved a little spoon and stirred the thick, dark honey. It turned from the consistency of jelly to regular honey after a few turns. 

Miss Adler had folded the length of the whip in her hand. She removed her foot from the bed, eliciting something that sounded like an groaned pout from her client. Irene slid the whip down the cheek of the woman, who turned slightly, snuggling the leather that just moments ago inflicted pain upon her. 

“You will not move so much as a millimeter as I take tea with Miss Hooper. Understand?”

“Yes, Miss Adler.”

Miss Adler switched modes and sat down to pour as if it was the most natural thing in the world to have a nice cuppa with a guest as there was a naked woman strapped to a bed and a leather whip sitting across your thighs. 

As Irene poured, Molly finally spoke. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to intrude upon you time. I mean, I hate that you had to, umm, double-book your appointments in order to see me.” Molly nodded her head in the direction of the bed to make her point. She was still feigning absolute interest in the Tiffany lamp though. 

“Oh, dear, this wasn’t due to time constraints. This is part of today’s lesson.”

“Oh! My! Well, I understand that this is what you do but I don’t quite think that I had any such plans with, umm, you-know-who.” Molly felt so much blood rush to the surface of her skin she almost felt faint. 

“Molly, drink your tea. I’m dying to know what you think of the honey.”

Molly took a sip. Her eyebrows raised slightly and she took another sip. She concentrated on the complex flavor. 

“It’s the most honey-tasting honey that I have ever had. It’s not just sweet. It’s warm and smooth and yet tangy and...and...”

“Yes?” Irene asked, leaning in with chin perched on her hand.

“It tastes like courage.”

Irene Adler’s eyes widened and a genuine smile played across her blood red lips. She leaned back in own seat with her tea cup lofted in the air, gesturing as she spoke. 

“Molly you are a pathologist and I am guessing you are a damn good one. You deal with human bodies every day. You see them naked, better than naked really because you see them inside and out. You see signs of their life habits and their predilections and their loves and their vices written on their skin and bones and organs. Yet you walk around positively oblivious to the power and potential and story of your own flesh and blood, covering it all up under layers of cozy cardigans and sensible slacks”

“Now, before you get any ideas that I am about to try to convince you that you are a diamond in the rough or some business like that, followed by what would surely be a makeover musical montage were this some dime a dozen rom-com about the underdog wallflower, then you have another thing coming. I want you to look at my well-behaved friend over there tied to my bed. She comes here because she knows what she likes, and she is not afraid to seek it out from someone who knows how to give it to her. She comes here and she bares her flesh and she owns every inch of her want and desire even as she hands her body over to me and my whip. Sometimes one needs to surrender in order to possess.”

Molly rallied herself and looked over at the woman being discussed. Her pathologist’s eye saw a woman of thirty-odd years old. She was of medium, slightly athletic build. But she had faint stretch marks around her hips and lower belly, indicating a past pregnancy or just a time of a heavier weight. There were manicured finger and toe nails and a professional wax job. But there were also spider veins behind her knees and little puckers of cellulite where buttocks met posterior thigh. Her breasts were of average size, slightly past their perky prime. Her blonde hair showed hints of darker roots. So she was not perfect by society’s standards, but Molly saw what Irene was talking about. Stretched out and displayed and completely given over to the whims of the woman holding the whip, this blindfolded soul was alive in every sense of the word. Even as she strained to stay painfully motionless, her body blushed under the scrutiny of being discussed. Molly could see her breathing coming in shorter, rapid panting. Molly felt her own back arch, sympathetically picking up on the woman’s desire but inability to do so, lest she cross Miss Adler’s directions. 

“So Miss Hooper we are most decidedly not going to dress you up in sexy costumes and have you bend for dropped paperwork in front of your detective. The thing about disguises is that you always end up just playing yourself anyway. What I am proposing is that you become more true to yourself and your desires. Because Molly, I see through the disguise you are wearing right now.”

Molly was brought back to her senses by Irene’s hand sliding over her own on the table. 

“You are the role of the dutiful caretaker, but for those who can never appreciate what you do for them. You reach for a nearly impossible man but not because you desire to be taken care of, but rather be the one to shelter him, perhaps from himself. And if he, that genius that sees everything, sees you, then maybe you will finally see you too. But that’s not all. You toil in the field of death and you fall in love with a man who worships death’s mysteries because you desperately want to be more alive. You want to shine but think yourself invisible, so your costume matches your insecurities. When you stop seeing yourself as invisible, when you start owning your courage and cunning and desire, you won’t need that soft fluffy nonsense anymore.”

Irene Adler’s eyes flashed with a ferocity bordering on predatory. She swept her gaze over Molly as if she were as naked as the other woman in the room. Irene Adler stood and with two heavy steps she was looming over Molly, one leg wedged well between Molly’s knees. She cracked the whip close enough to Molly’s profile for her to feel the air split by the lashing leather. But Molly couldn’t look away. It cracked again and again, Irene’s breathing increasing, tongue darting out hungrily. Finally, the dominatrix leaned over and whispered into Molly’s ear. 

“Now, shall we begin?”

“Yes!” came Molly’s reply so quickly that it almost stepped on the tail end of the question. 

“Excellent.” purred Irene. 

Molly only broke eye contact when she looked down at the leather-wrapped handle placed in her hand. She flexed her fingers hard and felt some of the “fluffy nonsense” already slip away.


	5. Mirror, MIrror

Molly left Miss Adler’s home with Irene’s second best whip in her handbag (lent out, not bestowed), two more appointment times lined up, and the very strict instruction to have as little contact with Sherlock Holmes as is possible during her “preparation” period. Molly also had some homework, and a shopping list. 

The very next morning, Molly hit the thrift stores. She quickly found the first items on her list. However, lugging two full-length mirrors down a bustling London sidewalk and up the stairs to her flat was harder in practice than on paper. The one with the nice wood frame she put in her bedroom. The one that was flimsier and only framed with white plastic would be hung in her office. 

The next items to acquire were “three items of clothing or adornment that you would stop to earnestly admire but would ultimately not buy because ‘it’s just not me.’” Molly took her time with this shopping expedition. When Miss Adler first gave her this direction, Molly knew exactly what she meant by it. Molly often talked herself out of purchases because she worried about something not being appropriate to wear to the morgue or because, although beautiful, it was just not something that people would expect her to wear. 

The first item she bought was actually a piece of jewelry. Molly rarely bought herself jewelry except for cute little things like studs that looked like ladybugs. What she ended up purchasing for this exercise was a silver drop necklace with a row of little (imitation) emeralds dangling from the lowest point. 

The second was quite impulsive and frivolous. She was walking by a shop window and saw them. It was a shop that sold, shall we say, risqué costumes. She walked by that window, did a double-take, and walked backwards to stand in from of the mannequin, mouth agape with the straw of her frozen frappe hovering before her lips. They were just so cute! Totally impractical, but ridiculously cute. Then she remembered that this was exactly the kind of thing that this assignment was about. She went in and bought herself a pair right then. 

The last item, Molly actually put a lot of thought into. She lay in bed that night and thought about all the females, from books and movies and such, that she found to be truly impressive when it came to how they wielded their sexuality. She recalled a snippet of a scene from a movie she had seen years ago. Truthfully, Molly didn’t even remember the rest of the movie, just the one scene. The female character was some kind of a performer. The scene took place in her dressing room. Some man had come to discuss something with her and an argument ensued when the woman was standing behind a folding screen, in the process of changing. Well the daft sod said something utterly stupid. And the woman? She did not wrap herself in a feather-trimmed dressing gown then float out dramatically. She did not carry on behind the screen until she came out completely put together . No, the woman on film who made such an impression on Molly Hooper knocked the screen down and then walked over it to go tell him off with scathingly smart words, all the while wearing a pair of tap pants with a matching lace-topped chemise. There was no bra involved. The unfortunate stupid man in the scene cowered as the heroine towered over him and gave him what for. Her breasts swung about under the thin satin as she gestured and he tried to avert his eyes but to no avail. The whole combination of her actions and words left him with no footing and he finally retreated, sputtering his apologies. 

Molly remembered thinking, even as a teenage girl, that the screen was a good metaphor for women’s garments in general. It’s nice to have some cover, but overall it seems to be there for the benefit of the other person in the room. They are well-designed shields to protect the pedestrians from being confronted with the full power of a woman’ body. Molly Hooper had definitely made a decision about her third purchase. 

*******************************************************************************************

A few days later, Molly was talking on the phone with her mother. Since her aunt was at her mother’s house for the day, Molly was also playing a game of telephone. Her mother was relaying prying questions from her aunt, then relaying Molly’s answers back. Molly was annoyed and had better things to do. Things like “practice”. But really she only needed one hand for that. Molly opened her bedside drawer, fingers petting Sherlock’s glove lovingly, before taking out the other object that now resided there. Molly stood in her bedroom, half-consciously replying “Yeah! Oh?” to her mother’s droning voice, all the while admiring the weight and feel of the object in her hand. 

Molly flicked her wrist just a bit, trying to get a fell for how it worked. Molly felt her eyebrows involuntarily shoot up in response to her surprise over its sensitive responsiveness. With the thought of “in for a penny, in for a pound” having crossed her mind, Molly went for it. There was a crash of a flower pot from her windowsill and the subsequent screech and terrified run of her cat, his retreat setting off more destruction through the flat in his wake. 

“What the blazes is all that commotion, Molly? Are you okay dear?” rang through the phone, followed by the secondary set of similar sentiments echoing from her aunt in the background. 

Molly stood stock still, assessing the damage, and still gripping the whip in her hand. She dissolved into giggles. What was she supposed to tell her mother? “Sorry Mum, I picked the wrong moment and apparently too small of a space in which to practice my hand with the whip that was lent to me by London’s most famous dominatrix!”

************************************************************************************************

The day after that, Molly stood in Irene Adler’s bedroom, very grateful for the raging fire in the grate. It had been bitterly cold outside, the chill hard to shake. Oh, and Molly was standing in the middle of the room, naked. 

This was her assignment for the day, Irene had explained. She was to get comfortable wearing her “battle dress.” So Molly stood there, not knowing where to put her hands, in front of a very large and ornate full-length mirror. Half the time she had her arms partially crossed over her breasts, the rest of the time her hands were lowered and folded in front of her, trying to look casual about covering her lower bits. In the reflection she could see Irene and Kate in the background, sitting at the tea table. Irene had out her fancy phone and Kate was at the laptop. They were sorting out Irene’s schedule of clients for the week and discussing the flights and things for an upcoming trip to Brussels. If Molly recognized the names of some of the celebrities and politicians that they had spoken of, she didn’t mention it. 

Irene stopped chatting mid-sentence, something in regards to having candle wax primed for when Sir Somebody-Or-Another arrived, and exclaimed “Molly, stop looking beautiful, it’s distracting!”

At first Molly blushed from the flattery and the situation in general, but then she saw Irene’s face. Irene was not amused. Miss Adler approached the bewildered younger woman. She stood with hands on hips, in Molly’s personal space again, looking over her naked form with discerning eyes. 

“Stop sucking in your tummy and consciously tightening your abs.” She ordered with a huff of annoyance. Irene punctuated her point with a quick slap of the back of her hand on Molly’s belly. This also got Molly to lower her hands abruptly. 

“Better,” Irene started. Her eyes widened when the idea struck. Without tearing her eyes away from Molly Irene motioned with one hand “Kate, bring a chair for Miss Hooper.”

Kate quickly brought over a velvet-covered high back chair with no arms. Irene indicated it should go directly in front of the mirror. 

“Sit, Molly” ordered Irene. 

Molly sat and immediately crossed her legs and sat with perfect posture. 

“Now,” said Irene, tapping at the ever-present phone in her hand. I am setting chimes to go off every 5 minutes for the next 45 minutes. Every time you hear the chimes you are to change position in the chair and hold that position for the full 5 minutes. You can pick which way to sit every other 5 minutes. For the other times, you will sit with your back straight, arms at your sides, feet flat on the floor and your knees spread. Wide.”

Molly could not rope in the look on her face even is she had the presence of mind to do so, which she did not. Irene saw Molly’s shock and apprehension written all over her body.

She bent over Molly from behind the chair and whispered in her ear, one hand stroking down the side of Molly’s neck.

“This isn’t about me wanting to see you Miss Hooper. I mean, I certainly enjoy the view, but that is just a fortunate side-benefit from this venture.” Irene switched to Molly’s other ear. Their eyes met in the reflection of the mirror. “This is about you seeing you. If you hide from your own body then how could you possibly expect your detective to see you?” Irene planted a chaste but slow kiss on Molly’s cheek. “5 minutes starting...now.”

Irene returned to the tea table and right back into her planning with Kate. 

So Molly sat there, watching herself stare back. She saw the strange fear in her own eyes. Her mind flashed to all the times she sees Sherlock at Bart’s. But in that moment in the velvet chair she saw herself from his perspective. He is wrapped up in his work and the endless connections of his own mind, and there she is just ducking through. There is Molly, tucking her hair behind her ear shyly and stammering and pulling the cuffs of her jumper over her hands and fiddling with things on the counter just to be near him. Molly realized she was holding back tears. She was so embarrassed. She was not embarrassed to be sitting in the chair, but at all those memories. She wanted to be seen by Sherlock, yet she was always hiding from him. 

The tone sounded on Irene’s phone. 

Molly uncrossed her legs. She lifted her chin and dropped back her shoulder. She spread her legs. Wide. She saw herself.

“Wider” was the firm order given from the corner of the room. 

“Yes, Miss Adler.” was the equally firm response of Miss Hooper.


	6. 982.2 Degrees Celcius

The “lessons” with Miss Adler continued over the next few weeks as Irene’s busy schedule allowed. During one of her last visits with Irene before The Woman’s business trip to Brussels, Molly was to bring her new purchases with her. 

The necklace received a nod and a simple “We can make it work.”

When Molly explained the purchase of the simple white lace and satin chemise, Irene listened carefully, tracing the pattern of the lace with her pinky finger. Irene smiled. “I know exactly what movie you just described. One of my favorites. Good choice.”

Molly was a little hesitant about bringing her last purchase out of the bag. The more she thought it over, it had been a terribly girly impulse. Of all colors, why did she choose pink? 

Irene Adler slowly drew the one stocking out of the black tissue paper, followed by the other. Her lips curled in a little smirk as she turned them over in her hands to better examine the ribbon details. Molly caught sight of Kate pause and do a double take from where she had been standing by the bed, finishing up with the packing for their trip. 

Molly had purchased a pair of silk stockings, nude, with thin pale pink ribbons laced up the back from heel to thigh. At the top, the laces were tied up in a delicate bow. Molly also bought a simple pink lace garter belt to hold them up. These were real stockings, not those thigh-highs on the market now that have the terribly uncomfortable adhesive strip at the top. 

“Miss Hooper, these are totally impractical for every area of your life. They are not functional in your line of work, nor do they compliment your social habits of frequenting book stores, thrift stores, and meeting friends from university out for dinner. Also, your cat will have a field day with them if you leave them unattended...” Irene started checking off numerous reasons as to why these were not a good idea for Molly with a curt and unapologetic tone. 

“And,” the dominatrix continued, “they are fabulous and they are absolutely you.”

“Really?” Molly brightened.

“Yes. Molly you are not me. You are not Kate. You are not black and white and blood red. You are Molly Hooper, who deals with death all day by taking meticulous care of the hoard of african violets on the window sill oh her office. You like cozy blankets and slippers yet you also fall madly in love with a cold consulting detective and seek the advice of a dominatrix about how to get him to notice you. You can have your pink ribbons and you can revel in them in the same way that I would a new crimson corset. My only question is this...”

Miss Adler leaned in and dropped her voice to a stage whisper, shooting an obvious lusty glance to the other woman in the room.

“Where did you get them and do they have them in black? Dear Kate’s birthday is coming up and I do love her in things that tie.”

********************************************************************************************

When Irene and Kate were in Germany, Molly was on strict orders to keep up her mirror exercises. She was also to wield the borrowed whip on a daily basis. Molly knew that she would never be asked to strike anyone. It was just the feel of the handle, the commanding action and the resounding crack that was the point of it all. Molly practiced so vigorously she developed a little blister on her palm. She found she sometimes stroked the tender bubble with her thumb while sitting through the boring change of shift briefings at the morgue. When she realized what she was doing, she couldn’t help but smile a little to herself in an “I know something you don’t know” kind of a way. 

Molly also had orders to text Irene every morning, sending her a picture of what she planned to wear out that day. Irene explained that she would call Molly out when she continued to “hide”. Molly felt bad about texting Irene so early in the morning but Irene waved it off with a dismissive motion of her hand. 

“Miss Hooper, I am up anyway. You would be surprised how many terribly important people need a dose of morning discipline to get them through their work day.”

So Molly started sending the pics. The first day, apparently, there was simply too much.

Text received: At least 3 items too many. Strip. 

Molly removed her cardigan, the polka-dotted scarf, and her thick grey tights. She sent the new look.

Text received: Better.

Molly learned from the advice over time. She had always worn layers thinking that she would be cold in the chilled morgue. Surprisingly, she was not. She realized with a touch of embarrassment that it had just been the excuse she had convinced herself with in order to hide behind layers and embellishments. 

One day Molly sent off the pic and thought for sure she would pass with flying colors. She had a long, stylish grey flowing maxi skirt topped with a fitted pink soft turtleneck jumper. She finished the look with some simple jewelry that in no way resembled kittens or lady bugs. 

Why the long skirt, MIss Hooper? Then no one could see those lovely stockings of yours. 

Molly’s face twisted in adorable frustration. How did that woman know?

But Molly had learned not to underestimate the uncanny deductions of Miss Adler these last few weeks. She took off the lovely long skirt and opted for a knee-length straight skirt instead. She worried about the bows showing through the back slit if she moved the wrong way, but she was running late for work at this point so she would just have to make do with it.

That particular day, Greg Lestrade had to pop down to the morgue at Bart’s. It was not a terribly interesting case, but one that was just complicated enough that the DI himself wanted to ask Miss Hooper about her autopsy findings while they looked over the victim in question together. He was as polite as always, nothing like Sherlock (except of course when Sherlock wanted something from her). He held doors for her and helped her to lift the body bag from the cold storage drawer onto the gurney. 

Molly was deeply involved in explaining the procedure she used for deciphering the shape of the murder weapon from the wound track when her gesturing resulted in her loosing her bracelet. She quickly bent at the waist, twisting just to her right to retrieve it from the floor, all the while keeping up with her explanation. When she was upright again, she saw Lestrade’s eyes guiltily flit back up to meet hers. A moment before then, his eyes had been someplace of a definitely more southern direction. 

Molly’s explanation faltered for a second before continuing.

Lestrade listened just as intently but with a faint flush creeping up his neck and the sudden need to flip aimlessly through the file folder he was holding.

All the details covered, Molly gave the lingering DI a quick nod and turned to close the body bag. 

“Well, thank you Molly. That was all very helpful. Very, umm, revealing.” Lestrade remarked. His usual gruff but kind voice dropped to a bit of a lower and breathier register on the last word, followed by a nervous cough. “Well, you have a good day.”  
He ended after remaining perhaps an extra beat or two too long. 

“Molly, would you like...? I mean, would you ever care to...?” he asked from the doorway, Molly’s back still turned to where she was making sure the bag and its contents were all in order. 

“Yes?” She replied.

“Umm, never mind. You have a good day, Molly. See you around.” 

She could hear the sad smile in his voice. 

“You too!” She answered in what she hoped sounded encouraging as she turned. She only found the door swinging shut. But she still smiled. That was certainly different than her other conversations that she had with the kind man with broad shoulders and fabulous salt and pepper locks. 

*********************************************************************************************

A few days later, Sherlock and John were in the lab. Sherlock was perched at his favorite microscope. John was two stools away, pouring over the case file spread out in front of him. Although Molly was supposed to be avoiding the detective, she really did need to take notes on the progress of the growth on the petrie dishes she had in there. And besides, Sherlock was doing something that she was not needed for. He probably wouldn’t even notice her. 

So Molly entered the lab and went straight to her work station. She and John exchanged quick salutations. Sherlock’s eyes flicked just momentarily from the eyepiece in her direction. They all worked together in silence, only the shifting of paper and the occasional scratching of pencils stirring between the three. 

Finally Sherlock closed his notebook with a snap and took up his overcoat and scarf with a dramatic flourish. John raised his brow then wordlessly packed up the case file and prepared to follow Sherlock on their next adventure. 

“Bye Molly!” called John over his shoulder as the duo swept by. 

“Hmm, at 982.2 degrees Celsius and 800psi, the environment reaches equilibrium. The molecules of the added nutrient are stripped away and are attracted to and reform on the larger and more solid gemstone seed.” Muttered Sherlock, more to himself than to anyone else. 

“I’m sorry, what? Does that have to do with your findings, then?” questioned Dr. Watson. 

“No, John. It has to do with the manufacturing of emeralds. But in regards to my findings, I need to re-visit the bank of the Thames where the body was found to confirm something.”

John pulled his coat tighter around him while exiting the lab, as if he was already mentally preparing for sloshing about in the cold, muddy shores of the river.

Molly rolled over the parting conversation in her head as she noted the slime under her own microscope. Then she froze. 

Emeralds. Manufactured emeralds.

Molly lifted one fluttering hand to her neckline. Hanging lower than most of her necklaces do, just shy of being downright nestled in her cleavage, were the green stones of her silver necklace. 

That evening Molly traded some texts with Irene. Molly stared at the last one she received for some long minutes. Her heart pounded in her chest at the prospect. 

Text Received: Miss Hooper, no more hiding. You are ready to do battle. Mr. Holmes won’t know what hit him.


	7. Let's Have Dinner

The morning started like every other morning in recent weeks. Molly shot a quick pic to Irene via text. She wore a pleated skirt that came to just her knee, a crisp white button-down blouse that fit her nicely, and a vintage green velvet blazer that closed with a ribbon-belt. Underneath it all she wore her white lace chemise, plain stockings with her pink garter-belt (she grew fond of the feel of this combo and now indulged regularly) and a pair of plain white satin knickers. There was no bra today because, following the text being sent, Irene reminded her that she bought the chemise in honor of the movie scene that inspired her, which was decidedly sans brassiere. But Molly was fine with the direction because she was feeling more comfortable with her body, and the thick velvet of her blazer provided her with the cover she needed for her workday. 

Molly trotted out of the flat and tried not to think that any day could be the day. It all just depended on when Sherlock next showed up to Bart’s. She rode the tube to work and occasionally slipped her hand into her purse to stroke the soft leather glove she kept there.

She sat through the morning briefing and was actually a little disappointed to find out that there was nothing unusual on the docket for the day. That would mean two routine autopsies that would probably be cardiac related, some busy-work such as taking an inventory of supplies, and most likely no visit from Sherlock Holmes. She wasn’t sure if she felt disappointed or relieved. At least though it gave her time to finally get someone down to check on her computer. A nice guy arrived surprisingly quickly and got it de-bugged “easy peasy.” His name was...Jack? Tim? Well it was something simple like that and he looked like he was working up to asking her for coffee when Molly saw a familiar figure in a long coat stride by the windows of the door. 

“Excuse me.” Molly interjected politely and scurried off to her office to contact Irene Adler.

Sent: Miss Adler, Sherlock is here today. 

A surprisingly short time later, Molly’s phone rang. 

“Hello Miss Hooper. Well, today is the day, isn’t it?”

“Oh! Umm, I guess it is!” Molly relied with trepidation. She was so high strung she jumped when she heard the whip crack and a quick cry/moan come from the background of Irene’s side of the call.

“Oh, am I bothering you at work? We could wait until his next visit if you are busy?” Molly offered.

“No, it’s no trouble dear. My dear Kate is standing in as my whip-hand with his eminence. But the naughty boy decided to test Kate’s fortitude about carrying out my orders to punish him if he moves. I’m fine to step out and leave him in her capable hands.”

Molly heard a door shut just as another blow fell with an equally pained yet gleeful response from Irene’s esteemed client. 

“Now, are you in your office Molly?”

“Yes Miss Adler.”

“Do you have the glove with you today?”

“Yes Miss Adler.”

Molly felt a calm start to come over her from this simple exchange.

“Here is the plan Molly. You are going to stand in front of that mirror for a bit and follow my instructions. When we are done, you are going to march into that lab and give Mr. Holmes his glove back. And he is going to see you as he has never seen you before, and he will never look a you are just a piece of the furniture ever again. Understand?”

“Yes Miss Adler.”

“Good Girl. Put the phone on speaker mode and place it nearby. Now, let’s begin. Molly, get that glove out and place it on your hand like you have before when you were alone.”

Molly let a small but pointed gasp slip. 

“Oh Miss Hooper, now is really not the time to be coy. Of course I could piece together that you would indulge in some, shall we say, sensory-fantasy, whilst wearing the glove of the man that you would like to be the one touching you. It doesn’t take an expert to figure that one out, dear.”

Deep breath. Another one. “Right then.” Molly finally replied. She retrieved the glove from her bag and slipped it on her hand. It was a bit big on her of course, having been molded to the contours of a long-fingered consulting detective/violinist. 

“Now, keep your eyes on your self in the mirror and do as I say.”

“Yes Miss Adler.”

“So, picture yourself standing there in front of your detective. He looks into your eyes and he sees you. He sees every inch and ounce of you as you truly are. What would he do first with that gloved hand, Molly?

Molly conjured it in her mind just as Irene instructed. She saw her own reflection in the mirror but simultaneously, in her mind’s eye, she was looking up at Sherlock. He gazed at her and into her and there were no other puzzles clouding his mind. She was his entire focus. Already Molly felt her breathing and pulse increase.

“At first he’ll just look at me. He’s so often in a hurry when I see him but this time he takes his time. He’ll reach out one hand finally and brush the hair from out of my eyes and tuck it behind my ear. His touch will be hesitant. Before drawing it back he’ll lightly brush it over my cheek and I’ll lean into it.”

As Molly spoke she raised her gloved hand and did as she described. The soft leather felt so warm on her face. 

“Good, Molly. What else?”

“His hand will linger there then, even though he hadn’t planned to. His eyes will dance all over my face and he’ll look...not bored. Curious. Like he wants to know more.”

“How will you encourage him to keep exploring, Molly?”

“He’ll brush his thumb over my lips just barely and when he does I’ll kiss it. He’ll be surprised. He may even hold his breath a moment. He’ll keep his thumb there, motionless, with the hint of my lipstick on it. I’ll keep my eyes locked on his as I open my mouth just a little and lick his thumb with the tip of my tongue. I’ll kiss it again with my lips slightly parted and just a little nip of teeth. He won’t be able to look away.”

Irene hummed/purred her affirmation.

“And then?”

“As his thumb is on my lips, his fingers will be stroking the side of my neck as if acting on their own. I’ll break off the kiss and tip me head just enough to let him know that I like it and to give him my permission to further explore. He’ll move his whole hand to my neck then. He’ll touch in light strokes but then he’ll also wrap his hand around the back of my neck and squeeze just a bit. He’s moving on from just exploring to thinking about what it would be like to have me.”

“How will you show him that he can have you, Molly?” Irene asked in a whisper across the line.

“I’ll tilt my head back and arch my back. I’ll shrug off my jacket and let it fall to the floor. He’ll feel the heat radiating from me. His hand will slide down and his fingers will flex wide so that the spread of his hand covers both my clavicles. When he does this it will spread my collar enough so that he sees the lace underneath. He’ll let his pinky finger drop and trace the edge. His finger is trembling as he does it. I’ll reach up and slowly unbutton my blouse until it is hanging open, just a bit of lace and satin separating us now. He’ll let his fingers ever-so-slightly dip under the boarder of lace at the top. It’s a question.”

“And what is your answer, Molly?”

Molly placed her bare hand over her gloved one, and moved it to rest over her left breast. 

“Yes.” She sighed. 

Supple leather cupped her small, firm breast. Then the middle finger stroked from the very top of where the gentle slope started to the apex of her nipple. The sensitive area responded immediately. The palm of the glove ghosted in circles over the erect flesh, the subtle stitching causing shockwaves through her body. 

“Stay with me, Molly. Tell me what is happening. What is Sherlock doing?” Irene’s voice was more gentle than Molly had ever heard it, as if she was trying to not break the spell.

“He pulls me close to him now. He can’t stand to have those few inches between us anymore.”

Molly grabbed her own hip and she roughly leaned forward against the mirror, as if tugged there suddenly. She lifted her one knee to rest on the cool glass, the gloved hand running down her outer thigh and lifting the knee higher. 

“He runs his hand down the side of my leg and detects the feel of my garter belt underneath. He hitches my leg up around his and then slowly slips his hand up under my skirt until he reaches bare flesh. He smooths circles over my thigh and keeps reaching back further with every stroke. When his finger tips reach my panties he stops for a moment.”

Molly had her head resting against the mirror. Her own breath fogged up the reflection before her, coming in fast pants. But she didn’t see the haze, she only saw her own eyes/his eyes, hungry with desire and want. 

“He then plunges his hand beneath the satin and cups half my bum kind of roughly. His fingertips are already reaching between. They brush over my...”

Molly’s reporting was interrupted by her own long, soft moan.

“Oh, god. Oh god yes...” she breathes in stutters.

“How do you feel to him Molly? What does he find with his eager fingers?” Irene asked quickly and quite eagerly herself. 

“Unnnggggghhhh, he finds me...wet. And responsive. He shifts his hand around to the front to reach me better. He is breathing with me. His fingers reach inside me. Ah! It feels so good! He knows it won’t be long because I have been waiting for this for so long. And he realizes, just now, that he has been wanting this all along as well! His fingers move from inside to up where...ah! He alternates the two motions and it is perfect. God it’s so perfect! And he’s looking in my eyes and he sees nothing but me. He wants to see the moment when it happens. He thrusts in harder and strokes deeper and slower and...and...”

Molly cried out in staggered sobs as the pleasure took her in wave after wave. Every nerve ending danced with such an intensity it was almost too much. She smiled and she saw him smile. She saw Sherlock Holmes genuinely smile at her, pleased to have held her through the most amazing, crashing climax of her life. 

Molly was pulled roughly from her beautiful moment by the voice, no longer gentle, calling her through the phone resting nearby. 

“Molly! Molly Hooper! I need you to listen to me! Are you listening?!”

“Yes.” Molly squeaked out. He cleared her throat. “Yes, MIss Adler.”

“Good. Now, you button yourself up but leave off the jacket. And straighten your skirt a bit if it needs it. But don’t you DARE take off that glove. In fact, don’t even use that hand if you can manage without it.”

“Okay.” Molly replied a bit distantly as she tried to button her top with her non-dominant hand. 

“Now, when you are decently put together, you are to march out of your office and directly to the lab. Allow nothing or no one to get in your way. You go right up to your detective, remove the glove in front of him, and politely return it.”

“But...he’ll, I mean it’s what he does...he’ll know every...” Molly stammered.

“Miss Hooper! Is this or is this not what you wanted?” Irene barked. Molly could feel her fierce glare through the phone.

“Yes, Miss Adler!”

“Are you quite sure, Miss Hooper?”

“Yes, Miss Adler.”

“Good. It’s time to hang the phone up now, Molly.”

“Yes, it is.”

Molly hung up the phone and tossed it back on her desk with a clatter. 

She opened her door without a second thought. 

Molly Hooper strode through the winding hallways from her office to the lab, her heels echoing resolutely against the old linoleum.

Molly whipped the door open with such conviction, John Watson immediately thought better of saying his usual greeting. He followed her journey across the room with wide, curious eyes. 

Molly Hooper approached Sherlock Holmes and stopped directly next to him. He looked up from “his” microscope with a look of annoyed consternation that fell away the moment his eyes came into focus on the figure beside him. Her heart was pounding and yet a cool calm washed over her, even as she saw his eyes flitting from the warm red of her throat, the hint of lace at her neckline, the earnest push of her breasts under her blouse, and the way her skirt’s hem sat slightly off kilter. He turned in his stool to face her better. She saw the deductions flying across that beautiful brain of his, but the lovely crinkle between his eyebrows was knitted tight. The current data was not lining up with the previous case history he had kept filed away on her. 

Then she slowly raised the gloved hand. She started to remove it, tugging one finger loose at a time. Sherlock was enrapt with the action. Molly knew that he saw what others would not see. He saw the lipstick. He would saw the slick trace of her completion. Then his eyes tore away from the glove and met hers. His lips were parted in a gentle “O” of the puzzle pieces clicking together. 

This was the moment. 

Molly Hooper stood stock still and drank it in.

Sherlock Holmes saw her. He. Saw. Her.

Molly breathed out with relief and something akin to realization herself. The last bits of her disguise fell away. She felt lighter. She felt more like herself that she ever had. For in the impossibly-hued grey/green eyes of Sherlock Holmes, she saw her own reflection, and it was like she was seeing it for the first time. 

Molly smiled and tugged the glove completely free. She took Sherlock’s hand in hers and placed the glove in his palm. 

“You left this here a little while ago. I thought it was about time I returned it. Thank you, Sherlock.”

She gave his hand a little squeeze and turned away from the stunned genius. She strode back through the lab towards the door. 

She nodded to Dr. Watson as she walked past.   
“John” she acknowledged simply. It was both greeting and casual goodbye in one. 

“Molly.” He reciprocated in kind, but with a thoroughly confused look. As she passed she saw him turn to his flatmate with questioning eyes.

“Sherlock?” John asked simply. Molly was out the door before she heard his reply. 

As soon a she stepped back into her office, Molly’s text alert split the air. 

?

Molly smiled as she typed her response. 

Sent: Mission accomplished. And it was perfect. 

Received: Do you miss the glove already?

Molly thought it over for a moment, then smiled even wider. 

Sent: Nope. Don’t need it anymore. 

Received: Well done, Miss Hooper. 

Molly ran her finger across the simple text from the strange and powerful woman who helped grant her wish. She was surprised when the chime sounded again a moment later. 

Received: I’m not hungry. Let’s have dinner.


	8. Epilogue/Bonus Mini-Chapters

St. Bart’s Hospital, the moment after the door of the lab closed behind Molly Hooper:

“Sherlock? What was that all about?” John asked as he approached his friend. 

Said friend appeared to be frozen in place, still staring at the empty air that Molly Hooper in habited a moment ago. John felt a smile creeping across his face but he didn’t quite know why. But then the good doctor’s conscious awareness caught up with his subconscious observations. 

“Sherlock,” John started, smile growing wider, “You’re blushing! What did Molly do to make you blush Sherlock?

At this the consulting detective seemed to gain some of his wits back about him. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, John. I am doing nothing of the sort.” tumbled out rather quickly.

Sherlock stood and started gathering up his journal and slides, making a good show of acting like a man who has it all together. But his best friend and flatmate was not buying it. Nope, not for a second. 

“Yes you are! It’s brilliant! Right up your neck and, Jesus, your ears are beet red!” John chuckled as he stepped into Sherlock’s personal space and even ventured to push back a curl from his ear for a better view.

“I am NOT blushing, John! It’s just hot in here and I’m finished now anyway. Let’s get going!” Sherlock was putting on his coat and scarf with a bit less grace and finesse than usual. 

“Yes, that’s it” John replied, dripping with sarcasm. He was also donning his coat and following Sherlock’s be-line for the door. “I’ll tell you what else is hot, have you noticed Molly lately? She seems to have changed a bit don’t you think?”

“John DO shut up!” sneered the detective to his loyal blogger.

John couldn’t stifle the giggles that were bubbling to the surface. 

The duo stopped to wait for the elevator in pointed silence. The doors opened and John entered, still smiling broadly to himself. Sherlock did not enter.

“John I seemed to have forgotten something in the lab, I’ll meet you in the lobby momentarily.”

John watched Sherlock disappear around the turn to the lab as the elevator doors closed in front of his face. John was then confronted with his own reflection, his expression a mixture of amusement fading into confusion. Sherlock never simply forgot anything in his whole life. 

Belgravia, the moment after Irene Adler sent the last text to Molly Hooper:

Irene re-entered the room where Kate was standing guard over His Eminence, whip in her hand and ready to strike again if need be. She cocked a silent questioning eye brow to Irene, a quick glance aimed at the phone in Irene’s hand. 

Irene caught the question seamlessly. She walked up behind Kate, pressing their bodies together. She held the phone in front of Kate’s line of sight, scrolling through the last series of texts for her to view. As Irene did this she kissed the redhead’s shoulder and slid her opposite hand down her arm, gently removing the whip from her hand. 

Kate tilted her head towards Irene and angled her body just enough to come face to face with The Woman. She whispered against Irene’s lips “So, should I be...”

“Jealous?” Irene stole the last word from Kate’s mouth, followed the the theft of a quick but deep kiss. 

Irene’s phone vibrated in her hand as the reply text came in.

“Absolutely.”

Molly Hooper’s Office, a moment after she received the last text from Irene Adler:

Molly was stirred from her consideration of the text invitation by a tentative rap at the door. Her eyes flared with a touch of panic, her mind immediately flying to the possibility of being subjected to a torrential series of rather graphic deductions. She tried to tell herself “Well, what of it?” but she noticed the tremble in her hand as she reached for the door handle.

“Oh! It’s you!” Molly exclaimed with obvious relief.

The young man on the other side of the door brightly smiled back. He then dropped his eyes to his trainers and shuffled a bit, seemingly trying to find his words. “Hi Miss Hooper, I was just in the neighborhood sorting some stuff out for Dr. Stamford down the hall and I thought I would drop in and check if your computer was still working ok since I worked on it for you?”

“Yeah! And, call me Molly, please. Come on in! It was...Jim, right?”

“Yes! That’s good of you to remember. Most people just call me ‘that skinny guy from IT’” Jim replied with a nervous chuckle. 

“So, umm, did you want to look it over and see if the stuff that you installed is still working ok?” Molly asked, motioning towards the laptop on her desk.

“Umm, actually, I kind of came here to see you.” Jim responded. More of the foot shuffling followed. He took a deep breath and then met her eyes “Iwaswonderingifyouwouldliketograbsomedinnerafterworkthisevening?” was forced out all at once, as if he didn’t say it fast enough he would have lost his courage somewhere along the way. He then smiled a hopeful toothy grin and rocked up on his toes like a little kid, waiting for her response. 

Molly was very flattered. He seemed sweet and this was normally the kind of guy that she would end of going out with. But these last few weeks left Molly wondering if some of her past dating choices were part of that “fluffy” costume that she had worked so hard at shedding. 

Molly tipped her head to the side and gave him a little smile as she replied “Actually, Jim, I just made dinner plans for this evening. But maybe we can grab some coffee together in the cafeteria sometime this week, okay?”

It passed so quickly that Molly would later convince herself that she had imagined it. But she could have sworn that for just a split-second Jim’s face twisted into something akin to surprise/indignation/rage. But in the space of a blink it was gone and he was all smiles again. He seemed happy with the idea of sharing a coffee and kept thanking her as he clumsily backed into the door frame on the way out of her office. 

She closed the door behind him. Molly sent a reply text:

Yes, Miss Adler

St. Bart’s Hospital, same day, the end of Molly Hooper’s shift:

Although the morgue was manned all night, the lab got closed down at the end of regular bank hours. Molly swept in to do her final check of the day. As she went around locking cabinets and turning off machines, Molly smiled to herself about the events of the day. When she turned in romantic revelry towards Sherlock’s usual work space, she froze. She approached slowly, running all of the possible reasons through her head. Was he disgusted by their meeting earlier? Was he so confused by the gesture that he needed to rid himself of the evidence all together?

Molly came to stand in front of Sherlock’s favorite microscope. Draped conspicuously across the top was one black leather glove. She picked it up gingerly. Turning it in her hands she tried to place what was different. Molly unconsciously moved to put it on, as if feeling it from the inside would help her figure out the motivation of its owner.

The Molly’s heart leapt in her chest. 

This glove was for the left hand. 

The one she had returned to Sherlock fit the right.


End file.
